


Mixed Fruit

by okapi



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Characters Reading Fanfiction, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Inspired by Fanfiction, Sex in a Car, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3274793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the course of the conducting Grade 3 Active surveillance, Anthea finds—and becomes inspired by—John’s RPF femslash fic.</p>
<p>In celebration of Femslash February and tribute to the hilarious <a href="http://aslipperysloth.livejournal.com/4959.html">Shopping List-June</a> by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/aslipperysloth/pseuds/aslipperysloth">aslipperysloth</a>. Very helpful to have read that first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixed Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aslipperysloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslipperysloth/gifts).



Anthea slid onto the bar stool.

The ginger-haired woman beside her glanced at her mobile, sighed, and took a long draw from her wine glass. She put her elbows on the bar, head in hands, and muttered to herself.

“Yes,” said Anthea. “You should break-up with him.”

The woman looked up. “Who are you?”

“I am in the employ of the senior Mr. Holmes. Call me Anthea. And you are Dr. Sarah Sawyer, soon to be ex-girlfriend of Dr. John Watson.”

“Ah. John said there was a brother. Didn’t I see you at _The Sound of Music_? At the crime scene?”

Anthea nodded. “Pity about the murder of the make-up artist. Was it a good date, all things considered?”

Sarah frowned. “No, not really. It was horrid. And, to be honest, I’m tired of being stood up and left behind and having sharp weapons pointed at me on a semi-regular basis. Sorry, not your problem.” She spun her mobile like a child’s top on the bar.

“He’s not coming.”

“I know. In a couple of hours, I’ll get an apology and an excuse out of an Ian Fleming novel.”

“Speaking of literature, it has come to my attention, through surveillance—“

“Surveillance?!”

“The senior Mr. Holmes worries about his brother. Constantly. He keeps an eye on the junior Mr. Holmes’ activities and associates. Dr. Watson is a principal focus and, by extension, anyone with whom the doctor shares regular contact.”

“You’ve been spying on me?!”

“Yes. And, in my surveillance, I’ve come across a bit of…prose…that may make your situation, that is, your decision and its aftermath, easier.”

Anthea took a plain business-sized envelope from her purse and handed it to Sarah.

Sarah opened it and removed a sheet of paper. She began to read.

“Dr. Sawyer, are you familiar with the term _fanfiction_? Specifically _Real Person Fiction_?”

“No,” said Sarah, her eyebrows rising as she scanned the page. Anthea put a light hand on Sarah’s wrist.

“Dinner?”

Sarah eyed her with a perplexed expression; she said vaguely,

“Starving. Call me Sarah.”

* * *

Sarah wiped her eyes with a cloth napkin.

“This, this, this.” She broke down again into fits of laughter and coughing. “John wrote this?”

“Yes,” said Anthea, grinning.

“And the red is Sherlock? Oh, Christ. This is too much.” She picked at her chips. “How did you find this?”

Anthea chewed and swallowed. “’Cloud’ is such a porous term for something that is supposed to store data, no?”

_Beep!_

“Here we go,” said Sarah. She turned the screen of her mobile for Anthea to read.

“Ugh,” said Anthea. “That’s the best he could do?”

Sarah nodded and sighed. “I might get a make-up shag later, but even those are becoming rare.”

“I am sorry,” said Anthea. “It’s cliché, but you do deserve better.”

“I’m tired of subsisting on crumbs. They are quite nice crumbs, as they go, but crumbs, all the same. But knowing this,” she folded the paper and returned it to the envelope, “exists will make what I am about to do much less painful. Thank you.” She handed the envelope to Anthea. Anthea put the envelope in her bag and pulled out a business card and pen.

“Here’s my real number and my real name.” She scribbled on the back of the card and slid it across the table. “In case you need to talk or anything.”

Sarah smiled and slipped the card into her breast pocket. “Thank you again. So what’s it like working for a Holmes? Hellish, I imagine.”

“I get bored. Another round?” she asked as the waiter approached.

“Sure.”

* * *

“So _Electra_ is more your style than _The Sound of Music_?”

“Yes. And no one got murdered, at least off-stage. Did you like it?”

“Yes. Thank you for inviting me. I had a very nice time.”

“I bought the tickets long ago, and now, well…” Sarah took a deep breath and said theatrically, “John Watson is a great boyfriend…”

Anthea gave her a sad smile. “…and Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.”

Sarah nodded. They walked in silence.

“I’m this way,” said Sarah, pointing with her hand inside her coat pocket.

“Thank you again. I’m traveling for work for the next couple of weeks, but when I return…”

“Give me call; we’ll talk about something other than Ernest Wanker Hemingway. Good night.”

“Good night.” Anthea hesitated and then put a hand on Sarah’s shoulder; she leaned forward and brushed her lips across Sarah’s cheek.

Sarah turned and walked down the street. After four blocks, she touched her hand to her cheek and mumbled.

“Certainly not. Just friendly. Sophisticated. Nothing to it. Stop thinking. Stop it.”

The hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck stood up when the black car slowed alongside her. She found her keys in her pocket and began to slip one key, spiky side out, in between each of her curled fingers, a makeshift brass knuckles at the end of a tensed arm. She walked faster and looked straight ahead.

“Sarah.”

Sarah stopped and turned.

“Want a lift?” Sarah approached the car. Anthea looked up from her mobile. Both women burst into laughter. Anthea held her mobile to the side, making a show of studying the screen, while her other hand unfastened the top three buttons of her blouse.

“My, what full lips and sparkling eyes you have!” said Sarah, between giggles.

“Are there wine in them? Chardonnay or more of a pinot noir?” Anthea batted her eyelashes.

“Definitely pinot meunier.”

Sarah’s smile faded at the full, round breasts on display. “How did you manage…?”

“Industrial strength push-up bra,” said Anthea, cupping one breast with her free hand. “The junior Mr. Holmes is correct: you can have round breasts or no bra—not both. Gravity.”

“Don’t tell me you’re wearing a corset?!”

“No. Spanx are for the office. But....” She pushed open the car door and uncrossed and re-crossed her legs.

“Well, hello, Narnia,” crooned Sarah as she climbed into the back seat and shucked her coat.

* * *

They sat facing each other as the car lurched forward. Their voices were low and husky, volleying the dialogue back and forth like stage actors in rehersal.

“What’s your name?”

“Anthea.”

“That’s a very lovely name.”

“Thank you. See something you like?” Anthea rolled one of her shoulders and pouted seductively.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To places you’ve never even dreamed of.” Both women stared out their respective windows, lips bit hard, eyes squeezed shut, stifling laughter into tiny snorts and coughs. They each took a deep breath and turned to look at the other.

Anthea raised one eyebrow. Sarah nodded.

“You have the most beautiful skin,” said Anthea, leaning towards Sarah, grinning.

Sarah put her hand over Anthea’s right breast. “Wait, stop. I don’t even really know who you are.”

“Does it matter?”

“I have a boyfriend. I can’t do this.”

“Can he satisfy you like another woman can? There is really no replacement for a practiced touch.”

“Oh he satisfies me fully.” Sarah rolled her eyes; Anthea laughed. “It’s just…well, fine. I must confess I’m a bit curious. I’ve never done anything like this, even though I had certain urges at Uni.”

“Well no one has to know. Our secret tryst will never leave this car. Plus, I have these.” She reached down and held up a rectangular box that was decorated with bright-coloured dancing animals. A small straw was affixed to the side. “Juices. Orange, apple, and…”

“Mixed fruit, please,” said Sarah, taking the last box and dropping it behind her. It—and Anthea’s mobile—hit the seat with soft thuds.

Anthea leaned forward and curled a hand behind Sarah’s neck, pulling her closer. Teeth clanked as their mouths met, both women smiling into the kiss. Sarah made swift work of the rest of the buttons of Anthea’s blouse; then she reached behind her companion and unfastened the clasp on her bra.

“Breathe,” said Sarah, between open-mouth kisses.

“Thank you. Ugh.” Anthea heaved a sigh of relief. Sarah pushed the blouse off Anthea’s shoulders and Anthea pulled her bra straps down; both garments dropped to the floor of the car.

Anthea slid down, her back to the leather seat. Sarah crawled atop her. Sarah’s lips moved from Anthea’s, down her chin and throat, to her cleavage. She rubbed the red welt that underlined Anthea’s breasts. She covered Anthea’s nipple with her mouth and teased the bud with her tongue. Anthea arched her back.

“I intend to waste some time,” said Sarah, nuzzling and licking at the underside of Anthea’s breast; she cupped the other breast with her hand and squeezed gently.

“If Dr. Watson truly equates foreplay with ‘wasting time’…hmmm…my only reaction is ‘How unfortunate!’ For you, of course.” Anthea wound her fingers in the sides of Sarah’s hair. “I meant to ah-ah-ask you,” she sighed as Sarah’s teeth grazed her nipple, “where you got this.” She touched the dark wooden set of combs adored with brown beads at the back of Sarah’s head.

“Camden market.”

“It’s lovely.”

“You’re lovely,” said Sarah, trailing kisses down Anthea’s torso to the waistband of her skirt. “More?”

“Yes,” said Anthea. She held Sarah firmly by the hair and pulled her head back.

They locked eyes for a moment. Then Anthea undid the side zipper and slipped off her skirt and knickers in one motion. She pushed along the seat until her head hit the door. Sarah lifted Anthea’s leg and bent her head awkwardly.

“Car sex requires…” began Sarah.

“Yoga flexibility? A sense of humour? Hollywood-style choreography?”

“All the above.” Sarah opened Anthea’s folds, “Labia majora, labia minora, vulval vestibule, introitus,” she whispered and pressed her lips to Anthea’s clit.

“Ooo, talk dirty to me, Doctor.” Sarah ran her tongue along the sides of Anthea’s clit and then sucked ever-so-gently. She curled her arms under Anthea’s thighs, kneading her buttocks and applying more indirect pressure with her tongue and lips. Anthea’s hands moved from Sarah’s head to her own breasts. She covered them and flicked the nipples between her fingers, arching her back anew and pushing her hips into Sarah’s mouth.

Anthea’s sighs grew into gasps. “In, in,” she panted. Sarah slipped one, then two fingers, inside Anthea. She watched her lover’s sweat-damp undulating torso as she began to pump her fingers in and out. Anthea piled her hair on her head and looked down at Sarah with bedroom eyes. Sarah bolted up for a sloppy kiss.

“Mixed fruit, indeed,” said Anthea, falling back against the seat. Sarah chuckled and returned to her ministrations, curling her fingers inside Anthea. Anthea moaned and twitched; Sarah continued until her jaw ached and her fingers, soaked with Anthea’s wetness, cramped.

“Now, yes, yes. _FUCK!_ ” Sarah held Anthea’s lower body tightly as she twisted off the seat and then collapsed back onto it. Anthea pushed up on her elbows; Sarah rested her head against Anthea’s bent knee.

“Beautiful,” said Sarah.

“Amazing,” said Anthea.

“Gorgeous pussy.”

“Miraculous tongue.”

Anthea sat up and pulled Sarah across her lap; Sarah straddled her.

“Please let me return the favour.”

Sarah’s smile faded; she looked down at her body. “I…um…don’t know…reality is different from fiction…”

Anthea turned Sarah’s waist until she was facing the black partition and leaning back against Anthea’s nude form. Anthea removed the combs from Sarah’s hair and, with slow, careful movements, pulled the ginger stands back and arranged them. She refastened the combs and smoothed the sides of Sarah’s head with flat palms. Sarah relaxed and curled and arm around behind her; Anthea twined her arms around Sarah’s waist. They stayed locked in the embrace for some time. Then Sarah twisted her head. They kissed, slowly, softly. Sarah turned, and their mouths opened, tongues playing and exploring. Anthea broke the kiss, releasing Sarah’s bottom lip from between her teeth.

“Which one of us is supposed to be ‘begging for it’? I forget.” Anthea nibbled along Sarah’s jaw line.

“I am not much of a beggar,” said Sarah.

“Neither am I. Let Sherlock beg.”

“I suspect he might like that.”

Anthea nodded into Sarah’s neck. Then in a muffled, posh falsetto, she said, “’Oh, John, you big strong army doctor, take me now!’”

Sarah laughed and replied in a low rumble, “’Spread ‘em, world’s only consulting pain-in-the-arse!’ Hmmm. _Real Person Fiction_? I can see the appeal.”

When their laughter died, Anthea kissed the base of Sarah’s neck and whispered in her ear,

“The worst part of your break-up is that your surveillance status has been downgraded to inactive. Watching you, I was never bored.”

“Like to watch, do you?” teased Sarah.

“I’m paid to watch. As with many of my duties, ‘liking’ normally never factors into it.”

“Want to see some more?” Sarah flipped in Anthea’s lap and leaned back again, fingers fiddling with the bottom hem of her jumper.

“God, yes,” said Anthea. The jumper joined Anthea’s clothes on the floor of the car.

And then Anthea had one hand in Sarah’s bra and another in her open trousers, cupping her through damp knickers. Anthea bent her forward, sucking hard on her neck, fondling the breast in her hand. Sarah wriggled against the hand between her legs; finding the pressure and friction and angle that she needed, she let out a loud gasp and began to rut furiously.

“Oh, oh, OH!” She slumped forward. Anthea turned her and gather her into her arms. Their foreheads touched, and they breathed in unison.

Finally, their eyes met and by silence consensus both reached for their clothes and clumsily began setting themselves—and each other—to rights.

Sarah paused and said, “He’s right: I don’t even know who you are.” She brushed Anthea’s cheek with her thumb and smiled ruefully.

“Want to change that?”

“Yes.” This time the smile reached Sarah’s eyes.

“I’ll text you when I return.” Anthea winked at Sarah, and her lips twitched in a nervous smile. “Maybe when I arrive?”

“I’d like that.”

Their shared reverie was interrupted by the double-rap of a knuckle on the partition.

“This is you,” said Anthea, buttoning her blouse.

Sarah scooted out of the car. She held up the juice box. “I’ll keep it on ice until next time.”

Anthea smiled; she reached up for a last kiss. “Good night,” she breathed into Sarah’s mouth.

“Good night.” They kissed twice.

“Flick the lights if everything’s okay,” said Anthea.

Sarah nodded. "Safe trip."

In a few moments, the car was moving again. When it stopped outside of Anthea’s building, the partition lowered.

“Well, my Dear,” said the posh voice, “you’ve made _very_ inappropriate use of a government-issued vehicle and employed the most overqualified—but also most discreet—chauffeur in the British Isles. My payment.” Anthea placed the white envelope in the outreached hand.

“Beijing flight leaves at 06:50, Sir.”

“Thank you. See you then.”

The car door shut, and the partition rose with a _whir_. Mycroft unfolded the piece of paper, read, and chuckled.

“Tsk, tsk, Dr. Watson, you must find a better beta…”

_[Cue the Sherlock theme song]_

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Happy Femslash February!


End file.
